


Call It What You Want

by thispieceofmind



Series: Time to Pretend [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Grinding, Growing Up, Kissing, M/M, Oh, Underage - Freeform, three year age gap, what is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 00:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thispieceofmind/pseuds/thispieceofmind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"It takes him most of his first year at school, a lot of smiles from Louis, and a bit of research on Google to realize that maybe he doesn’t really like girls and that he really likes Louis."</em>
</p><p>They're in boarding school, and Harry really shouldn't like Louis like that, but he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call It What You Want

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first part out of three, and in this section, they're 11/14 and 12/15!

Harry really likes the garden. He always has liked flowers because when he was younger, he would parade around his backyard, following his mum as she tended to the hydrangeas and pansies and all of the lot of them. Sometimes she would pluck one and stick it behind his ear just to see him giggle, and when he turned six, she sat on the back porch with him and taught him how to make crowns out of wildflowers, and that very day he gave the first of many crowns to Gemma because he remembers how his dad always used to call her princess. Harry still thinks she’s a princess.  


Now, he likes the garden even more. It’s bigger than the one at home, and he finds that he was drawn to it immediately. After the first years are given a tour of the school, tucked neatly into their black dress pants, white tops, and navy and burgundy ties, they’re free to roam the campus on their own. Harry doesn’t know anyone, then. Harry thinks he likes the garden even more than he did before because it is where he meet Louis.  


He’s sitting on one of the marble benches that line the gardens, ornate and elegant, much like the flowers he is surrounded by. But he does not draw any of that from what he is doing. Harry just twiddles with a flower that is fallen and thinks that the bench is cold in the autumn air and swings his feet, trying to take in his surroundings. It’s odd, he thinks, being at a new school. Everything is unfamiliar, like when he went to preschool for the first time. But he’s eleven and independent, so he can do this. As he twirls his flower, he thinks about making friends and does not get too fraught before the sound of shoes on the smooth ground that lay underneath the benches snaps him out of it.  


There is a boy in front of him. Harry thinks he is stupid for thinking that. Everyone is a boy here. He’s tall though, a lot taller than him, and he has pretty blue eyes that look like the sky and a happy smile that makes Harry want to smile, too. He is looking right at him with those sky eyes and that happy smile, so Harry looks right on back. He isn’t sure if he is supposed to say anything. That’s really all he has felt since he arrived at this new school. Unsure. Unsure of where he is going and who he is with and the boys he is put in a dorm with. He smiles back though, because that’s what his gut is telling him and his mum always tells him to listen to his gut.  


“Is that a hyacinth you’ve got there?” the boy says, and well, Harry isn’t really expecting that from his mouth, but being unsure and all, he can’t really say that he expected _anything_.  


Harry clears his throat a bit. “Um, yeah, it is. It was just on the ground so, erm, I picked it up. Not many flowers left though, since it’s fall,” he explains awkwardly. He isn’t sure how much was too much. “Reckon it’s from the greenhouse, then.”  


The boy smiles. “Reckon you’re right.” Harry thinks his sky eyes got even more like the sky. Brighter. Like how the sea looked the few times Mum and Gemma took him. “Some of the professors might’ve dropped them. They make arrangements for the first dinner. Speaking of which, I’m supposed to be rounding you and some other first years up. So come on, then.”  


“Rounding me up for dinner?”  


“Yes, Curly, it’s nearly half six. Honestly, I should’ve found you earlier than this.” Harry doesn’t say anything, but he smiles at his shoes after standing, following this boy who he doesn’t really know to wherever the dinning hall is. He forgets already. “What’s your name, anyway?” he asks, and he’s waiting up a bit, so Harry can walk by his side. They don’t find any other first years.  


“Harry,” Harry says.  


“Harry,” the boy repeats. “I’m Louis, and it has been a pleasure guiding you to your destination.”  


His tone makes Harry laugh, and he thinks that maybe this might be a friend.  


***  


Harry guesses that Louis sees the opportunity for friendship as well, because even though he’s fourteen, and Harry’s only eleven and new, Harry thinks Louis likes him, and he gets taken under his wing. Harry likes to think that he’s mature for his age, and he hopes that Louis thinks so too, because he likes Louis, and he doesn’t want to seem like a complete idiot. But with a little help from him, he learns the ins and outs of the school – memorizes it like the back of his hand. He makes other friends, too. He has his two room mates, Niall and Liam, and he likes them, too. Liam is quiet sometimes, and focused, too, but when all’s said and done, Niall can always manage to bring out the fun-seeking, mischievous side in him. Sometimes Liam will sing in the shower, and Harry will smile because he’s got a nice voice, and Niall will play his guitar before they go to sleep, and he’s still learning, so the lads tease him about sticking out his tongue when he messes up and swears more than Harry had heard before meeting him. He likes them a lot, he does. He still does well in school and calls his mum at night sometimes, but he’s having fun, and Louis, well, he’s good. Harry really likes Louis.  


Sometimes while he’s in the library with Niall and Liam they’ll talk about a fit bird in their classes or how the TA in Professor McGuire’s class is hot, and Harry will stare down at his books and wonder why he didn’t think about that like they did. It takes him most of his first year at school, a lot of smiles from Louis, and a bit of research on Google to realize that maybe he doesn’t really like girls and that he really likes Louis.  


That first year passes quickly, unbelievably quickly, with tests and new people and unfamiliar places and a lot of adventures. By the time he’s back, it seemed summer dragged on for too long because the sky didn’t seem as bright without those eyes to compare it to. He spends a lot of time just _blushing_ the first few weeks back. He’s not exactly sure why, or, maybe he knows why but he just doesn’t want to admit that’s the reason. But sometimes Louis will call him cute or laugh at his jokes that Liam tells him suck, and he’ll go bright red and have to either duck his head or burrow it into Louis’ own shoulder so he can’t see. And he starts to think about Louis a little weirdly, like butterflies-in-his-stomach-weird, and the way the stupid romance novel that his mum brought on vacation describes that he’d stupidly picked up when he was bored. He thinks he might want to kiss Louis, and at first he thinks _no, that’s not normal_ , but then he’ll think of Louis and how he looks at life. He thinks of how he says fuck it to everything, and Harry thinks maybe he wants to be like that, too. He can be whoever he wants to be, even if he has to call his mum once or twice and whine to her about it and spill his secrets to Niall and Liam at midnight on a Saturday evening. Even if he has to blush into his shoes. That’s all right.  


But he’s feeling older, now that he’s been twelve for more than half a year, but when it’s the first week of school and Louis starts talking about sex he starts to squirm because yeah they learned it last year in health and kids in his grade said they did that all the time, but – still.  


“Harry, it was _mortifying_. I was just having a wank in my room and my mate Stan walked in and just started laughing! And, okay, he’s known me since I was like, two, so I don’t think anything’s awkward for him anymore when it comes to me, but the fact that he laughed, oh my god. At least the porn was hot.”  


Louis is babbling, and Harry is becoming increasingly more uncomfortable by the minute. Louis has never treated any different than how he would treat his other friends because of his age; he’s never tried to shield him because he claims that “it doesn’t matter what age you’re exposed to something because either way you’re still gonna see it in the end.” Harry has never been sure how he feels about that. Sometimes he appreciates it, but other times he wishes he just didn’t have to hear what Louis is saying. Mostly he’s grateful.  


But right now is one of the moments where he’s not, because there’s a bright red flush in his cheeks, and Louis is completely unabashed, not a hint of shame in him, and Harry wonders if he’s always been like that. They’re sitting on Louis’ bed with books surrounding them, levels completely different, but still, Harry likes studying with Louis.  


“Oh,” is all he peeps out, and he tries to keep his eyes trained on his history book, but he’s gone all shifty and squirmy, and he can feel Louis staring at him.  


“Sorry,” Louis says. Harry can tell he’s not very sorry, but lets him continue. “Sometimes I forget how young you are, little Hazza.” He reaches across the bed to ruffle Harry’s curls.  


“I’m not _that_ young!” Harry exclaims indignantly, crossing his arms over his chest and dropping his pen.  


“You might be mature, but I’m sure you haven’t seen a clip of porn in all your twelve years.”  

“I–I have!” Harry stutters out, and Louis laughs at him. Harry scowls. “You’re being a twat.”  


“But the real question is, Harold, is do you even know what a twat really is?”  


Harry’s scowl grows wider. “I know it’s a vagina, you absolute prat!” His face is growing hotter, and he knows Louis is only teasing to get him flustered, but he curls into himself. Louis is relentless.  


“Have you _seen_ one?”  


Harry groans. “No! And I have no bloody desire to, either.” He presses himself back against the wall and hooks his chin on his knees. His eyes are just as hot as his face and are stinging because he’s never told anyone that. He wanted to tell Louis in a normal conversation, but Louis always pushes, so he’s gone and blown it, and he refuses to look up. He doesn’t want to make that much of an idiot out of himself. The sting goes nowhere, but soon enough there’s shifting on Louis’ bed, and he’s pretty sure that some of their books fall to the ground, but he’s too focused on not focusing on anything to actually register if they do.  


“Harry,” Louis starts, and he’s moved next to him, so their thighs and raised knees are pressed together. Louis dares to wrap a gentle arm around Harry’s shoulders, and Harry’s never been able to push him away. He’s tense though, rigid. “Hey.” His voice is soft.  


“What?” Harry snaps, and his voice is throaty like it gets before tears.  


“Look at me, angel.” Harry’s stomach twists and if he wasn’t so close to tears he’s sure he would’ve blushed. He _loves_ when Louis calls him that. It makes him want to fiddle with his hands like the little girls would in his second grade class after the boys got over cooties and kissed them on the cheek. Harry looks at him, though, and his eyes are glassy. “Are you trying to say what I think?” He’s not judging, and Harry is grateful. A tear slips down his cheek nonetheless, because he doesn’t _know_. He doesn’t get any of this, but he’s appreciative that Louis’s so mature underneath his layers of joking and mischief. He thinks if he tried to tell anyone else they would laugh at him.  


Louis thumbs away his tear. Harry nods but can’t bring himself to say anything just yet. “S’alright, Haz. Same thing happened to me last year. I mean, I was a bit older than you are, but that’s all right. I’ve learned a lot since then.”  


“I – you, too?” Harry chokes out. He can’t believe it, and he still hasn’t fucking said it, and now is one of those times where he _really_ wants to kiss Louis because he’s looking up at the sky even though it’s dark outside, and he’s rubbing a pattern on his arm, and he’s not really sure how he’s feeling.  


“Say it, Haz,” Louis murmurs in his ear, and it’s gentle. Very gentle. “It makes you feel better. It made me feel better.”  
His hand is drawing little patterns on Harry’s arm now, and it’s soothing, but it also makes Harry want to blush and shiver and bury his head into Louis’ neck. “Yeah, Lou, m’– m’gay.” Harry’s crying now, just lightly, and Louis’s tucked him into his side, so all Harry can do is breathe him in and that’s making it a little bit worse, because that’s all he sees and all he feels. He thinks that Louis might think he’s confused, which he is, a bit, but mostly overwhelmed. Yeah, overwhelmed.  


“Shhh,” is all Louis whispers into his hair, and Harry feels small right then, but good small. Safe. “You’re all right, darling.”  


“I’m all right, yeah.” He blames the hitch in his breath at the crying. That’s it. It’s a while of them just sitting there while Harry calms down, and they continue to ignore their books. It’s a nice kind of quiet, and Harry’s breathing gets softer, and Louis keeps petting his hair. “Lou,” he finally croaks out, and it’s quite some time later, and his voice is a bit wrecked from crying. “I feel all clueless now. Like, I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know how to kiss someone, or like, how do you even be gay?”  


Louis bursts out laughing and the movement of his chest rattles Harry, too, but he doesn’t get what’s so funny. “You just like boys, Harry. It’s the same thing as being with a – well, the sex is a bit different – but you love ‘em just the same.”  


Harry pouts, lips jutting out round and full. Louis tugs on a piece of his hair where it’s starting to curl around his ears. “But I’ve not even _kissed_ anyone!” Louis eyes flicker down at him for a minute, moving across his eyes and his cheeks and his lips. “I just wanna _know_.”  


“I wouldn’t want to steal your first kiss from you, Hazza,” Louis says, and he’s still staring at him, and Harry’s starting to get squirmy again. “That wouldn’t be very fair, would it. It should be with someone you want it to be with. Not just because you want to know.”  


“But I do want it to be you!” Harry cries. “You can just, like, teach me things. How you did with the school, y’know. Show me the ropes, and then–” Harry cuts himself off, because after Louis showed him around the school and taught him the back staircases and how to charm the ladies in the kitchen, he was able to do those things by himself. He doesn’t want to go kissing other people. He likes _Louis_.  


Louis is a little bit closer now, and Harry’s not sure when it happened, but he’s not complaining, even though his heart rate is picking up in his chest, and he feels warm all over, but different than blush warm. Nice, warm. It’s everywhere, not just in his cheeks. “You sure, Harry? I– this isn’t like, we’re not– you’re just _twelve_ , Harry I can’t–”  


“I’m sure, Lou. You don’t need to like, make a commitment to me or whatever. I know what friends with benefits is.” He barely lets himself pause amidst the heartbreak he feels at the words he’s saying and exclaims, “Not that I’m saying you’re going to have sex with me! I’m just saying, like, yeah, I know you’re just kissing me to kiss me, not because you _want_ to kiss me. Or like, you wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t want to, but, just–”  


Harry is cut off by Louis’ finger pressed to his lips. “Shh...” Harry giggles a bit, just because excitement is bubbling up in him. “Now, Hazza, let me teach you how to be gay.” Harry scowls a little at the teasing, but it vanishes when Louis’ nose is gently brushing against his, their skin smooth against each other. He nudges Harry’s head just to the left and presses their lips together, soft and unmoving. It’s dry, Harry thinks, but he’s got the butterflies back in his stomach. That’s it, then, just a simple press of the lips, and then Louis is moving back, smiling at him.  


“That’s not a real kiss,” Harry says, and he’s not sure why he’s whispering, but he is.  


“Not done yet,” Louis murmurs, and is hand is on Harry’s waist so he can kiss him properly, and Harry grips his hair because it’s the first thing that comes to mind. Louis slots their lips together, and still, it’s plain, but soon they’re moving against his, soft and gentle and hesitant, as though Harry is made of glass, and Louis is afraid to break him. Harry twists his fingers further into Louis’ hair and tries to get him ever so closer because he wants to kiss him, so he’s doing his best to kiss back, his lower lip getting caught between Louis’. It’s a little sloppy, but his heart is racing in the good kind of way, and he moves his hands from Louis’ hair to his smooth shoulders where his dress shirt is mostly unbuttoned. Harry likes the soft breathing he hears and the little smacking noises of their lips. It reminds him that this is real.  


His breath hitches a little when Louis’ tongue swipes against his bottom lip before pushing into his mouth, licking everywhere and rubbing against his tongue and running along his teeth. Harry shivers a bit and clings further to Louis’ warm skin and tries his best not to focus too hard on the hand that’s running from his waist to his thigh and back up again. Harry’s not sure how long they kiss, but he takes charge a little, making breathy sighs into Louis’ mouth and exploring it like Louis showed him. His hands wander underneath Louis’ shirt on his back, and that’s it, just warm skin and warm mouths and a warm feeling in his tummy.  


Louis pulls back with teeth scraping across his lower lip, leaving it puffy and bright pink, and Harry has a happy glow on his face, bright eyes shining. “Good?” Louis asks, and Harry thinks he seems a little breathless (not that Harry isn’t himself) but doesn’t comment on it.  


“Really good,” Harry mutters. Yeah, he’s really breathless.  


“Good,” Louis affirms. “Now do your fucking history.”  


***  


Harry plays those moments in his head again and again and again. It’s a week of him mostly pining and seeing Louis in crowded areas. They don’t study together again, and Harry thinks maybe he should ask even though it’s always Louis who does the asking. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to be assertive or not. He doesn’t know if anything has changed now that Louis’s kissed him. He knows it isn’t supposed to, but.  


Yeah, it’s mostly pining. Niall and Liam don’t suspect a thing, though, they don’t even comment on him staring more than usual. Harry just wants to kiss him again.  


It does happen, eventually, because Harry decides to be assertive because he _can_ , and they do homework on a Thursday night and half way through Louis gets frustrated and leans across the bed, twists his hands in Harry’s hair, and yanks him forward for a kiss. “Damn it, Harry,” Louis mutters against his lips. “I want you so much. Why do I want you so much?” He’s practically talking to himself now, but Harry’s squealing a little on the inside because Louis _wants_ him. “Fuck, you’re my twelve year old friend. I shouldn’t want you.”  


Harry doesn’t know what to say, because _ouch_ , that hurt a little, but he reaches his hands out across the bed to smooth his thumbs over Louis’ cheekbones and says the only thing that comes to mind. “It’s okay, Lou. You can have me. Like, like what we said before. You don’t have to – to date me or whatever. What we said. Friends with benefits, right? You can have me, and we can be friends, too. Just, kiss me, please.”  


“Okay,” Louis says. “Yeah, okay. Friends with benefits. I can do that.”  


Harry crumples a little more, but he really wants to kiss Louis, so he does.  


***  


They kiss a lot more after that. It’s whenever they see each other alone, every time they can sneak off, every spare moment they get where they know they won’t be missed. They snog in bathrooms and in empty classrooms that Louis so recklessly sneaks them into. He’ll hoist Harry onto a desk and kiss him until he’s gone red in the cheeks and in his lips. They kiss when they’re supposed to be studying, and it’s getting colder now, too, so when they kiss after going outside in the quad it’s warm in each other’s mouths. Harry feels a little empty inside, though. But he does it because he _wants_ it, and even though Louis wants it too, he knows their motives are not the same.  


One time, they’re in the secluded corner of the library during dinner because they both have big tests the next day and no one’s there since _nobody_ ever misses supper. They figure they can afford it because Louis has a stash of sweets and crisps under his bed that they’ll probably get sugar crazed on later, and then they’ll be up until who knows when, and Harry will crash there. Niall and Liam will as questions the next day, and Harry will tell them were he was. Their suspicion won’t go away. Louis managed to get a connecting single this year, where there’s a bathroom that connects two rooms like in hotels, but really it houses two separate people. Zayn’s across the way, but he wouldn’t dare come in without knocking.  


But now, before they retreat to Louis’ stash, they’ve got books on their laps and they’re seated on the fluffy couches that the library has in that special little corner. The cushions make Harry sink back in, all deep and plush, but as he reads over the text his eyes keep glancing up at Louis. He wonders if Louis can feel it. He definitely feels like a little girl now, sneaking glances at his crush.  


Cups of tea sit on the coffee table in front of the, steaming and warm, like how Harry feels when he looks up from his English book and at Louis’ eyelashes, casting shadows on his high cheekbones. He shifts a bit on the couch, pressing further into the cushions and hoping that he’ll seem more inconspicuous. He guesses it doesn’t work because Louis glances up from his work with that smirk on his face that makes Harry want to maybe jump him just a little.  


“What?” Louis asks. Harry likes how his eyes sparkle. He wonders if it’s all the time, or if it’s just with him. He tells himself not to think like that. A chant of _friendsfriendsfriends_ runs through his head.  


“Nothing,” Harry mumbles. He reaches for his tea and take a sip. His mouth is against the rim when he repeats it. “Nothing.” Louis is still looking at him so he gives him his own mug as a distraction.  


“You sure?”  


“Yeah,” Harry affirms. “Just thinking.”  


“I’m going to assume it’s not about English, yeah?”  


Harry laughs a little, because, well, – it’s Louis. He always laughs when it’s Louis. “No. Not English.”  Louis’ smile gets a little wider. “You gonna tell me what it is, Haz?”  


Harry pauses and takes a sip of his tea. (His nonchalance is seemingly failing.) “No, probably not.”  


“All right,” Louis murmurs. He’s still smiling, and Harry can’t help his eyes when the flit from his tea to his book and back to Louis again. He’s still looking at Harry, eyes all sparkly even now, over the edge of his cup.  


It’s Harry’s turn to ask now, “What?”  


“Nothing,” Louis says slyly.  


“Is this a game, then?” Harry wonders, smile forming, dimples making deep hollows in his cheeks.  


“Nah.” Louis is casual. “But put your tea down, wanna kiss you now.” Always casual.  


“Okay,” Harry mutters, and that little bit of giddiness bubbles up in his throat as he takes another sip, mouth sweet as he places his and Louis’ cups back on the table. He sits back into the cushions and lets Louis do whatever he wants. He’s thankful that the library is deserted.  


Louis moves their books onto the table and crawls onto Harry. He situates himself right on Harry’s lap, and for a moment Harry thinks it might be a problem (they haven’t done that yet), but Louis is soft and warm so he pushes it aside. Louis’ hands cup his face and thumb across his cheekbones. But it’s a little less gentle than his usual touch, and Harry shivers. He stares for a moment and says, “You’re gorgeous.”  


“Shut up,” Louis growls. Maybe Harry wasn’t supposed to say that.  


Harry’s stomach jumps and he frowns, and he makes to say something, but Louis’ lips are on his neck because he knows that Harry won’t be able to utter anything. They ghost across his collarbone and leave kisses like dew drops on skin like porcelain. He never sucks hard enough to leave a mark that would last more than a few minutes, and Harry wishes he would. He would wear it proudly. But he knows that this is not what that’s about. This about learning. When Louis’ lips finally meet his, their tongues are all tea-warm, and Louis’ mouth is a little more bitter, but he seems to be determined to get the sweetness out of Harry’s mouth.  


“All that sugar,” he whispers, and it makes Harry shiver because his mouth is so hot, even hotter with the tea. “Disgraceful.”  


And he shifts his hips up a bit so they’re right on top of Harry’s, and Harry can’t help himself from touching everywhere. Louis is always warm. He runs warmblooded. He emanates heat and Harry can’t get enough. They mostly wander under his shirt that he untucks from the back of his dress pants where he can feel the light muscles and knobs of his spine.  


Louis presses his mouth back to Harry’s, licking against Harry’s tongue tasting of Yorkshire with fuzzy breaths that remind Harry of wintertime. Their lips taste sweet, and it’s warm and nice, and Harry wishes he can do this forever. Louis runs his hands through Harry’s hair over and over again, scratching at his scalp, and he can’t help the little mewls that spill from his lips. His eyes are closed and heavy, and he relishes in the sound of their lips meeting and the little jolts that are sent through his body when a shiver shocks him. Louis is licking at his tongue lazily now, and it’s nice – still warm. He blames the tea.  


And after a few more minutes he pulls away, and just rests his head on Harry’s shoulder, and they breathe. They breathe, and they still taste a little bit like tea, but Harry tastes like Louis, too, so that’s good. Harry thinks it’s good, but it could be better.  


For now, he’ll take what he can get, and he hopes that Louis doesn’t notice his boner pressing up into his thigh.  


***  


Harry’s breath is coming fast, casting on hot skin, on a slick neck. And Louis – Louis is everywhere. He’s grinding down into Harry’s lap and kissing up his neck and whispering instructions into Harry’s ear.  


_Roll your hips a bit more._  


 _Go in circles, babe_.  


_Touch._  


_Feel._  


Harry shudders when Louis licks up the shell of his ear and grips Louis’ waist as hard as he can without hurting him. He wishes, for an instant, that he was on top so Louis could squeeze his hips and leave bruises that he would feel for days, because sometimes he’ll go days without touching him. Louis doesn’t know that desire, but – still. There’s a fire spreading through him, and while it leaves the same fuzzy sensation throughout his body as the warmth of Louis’ lips and the tea did, this burning is much hotter, brighter. Louis leaves sloppy kisses on the underside of his jaw that is not yet defined, and moves his hips in little figure eights on top of Harry’s.  


Harry can barely focus, he’s so overwhelmed. He makes feeble attempts to thrust back up into Louis’ hips and he kisses back when Louis’ lips land on his, but he’s on sensory overload, everything is red hot and unlike anything he has ever felt before. He’s burning up, his cock hard in his jeans that he changed into before coming to Louis’ dorm. They were supposed to actually be studying, but then Harry mutter something about actually learning about sex, so Louis laid him back, kissed him hard, and ground against him with filthy hips and an even filthier mouth.  


“Fuck, Lou–”  


Louis smirks, and he’s casual about it. Harry doesn’t get how he’s always so _calm_. He nips at Harry’s lower lip as he grinds into him, fingers winding into his hair, hand gripping his bicep where his dress shirt that he had carelessly left on is rolled up. He trails a finger down his chest and whispers in his ear, “Come, Harry. C’mon.”  


“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I–” And his hips sputter against Louis’, and he comes right in his boxers, feeling Louis follow a few moments later, collapsing onto his chest and breathing into his neck.  


“Good lesson?” Louis asks.  


“Yeah,” Harry mutters. “Yeah, good lesson.”  


“Good.”


End file.
